


As Though the Strings Were Thine

by linaerys



Category: Shakespeare - The Merchant of Venice
Genre: M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:zelempa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/pseuds/linaerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bassanio needs a rich patron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Though the Strings Were Thine

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Franzi for the speedy beta!

The park is small and ornately manicured. The branches of the apple trees entwine to form a bower at its center, a little wilderness for lovers. Here Antonio waits, and Venice comes to him, money and power buying friends.

"I am Antonio," he says when Bassanio is introduced, as if Bassanio doesn't know this already. As if he isn't here, in Antonio's favorite park, clad in the gold and blue that brings out his eyes because he's heard tell that Antonio is most attracted to a youth's eyes, and his broad shoulders in the puffed up sleeves that are in fashion now.

Antonio is slim and handsome for a man of his age. His eyes hold a slightly apologetic look, as if he knows that his appetites are not acceptable, but will pursue them anyway. He is rarely without an entourage, and now is no exception. Lovely young men surround him, old favorites, perhaps, or those waiting to be chosen, but none is as broad and masculine as Bassanio. He hopes that will be a mark in his favor.

Bassanio bows, extending a leg, showing it to good effect, it seems, from the warming of Antonio's expression. Bassanio kisses Antonio's ring, and lets his lips brush skin. If he had the time he would be more subtle than this. He senses that would hook Antonio longer and more profitably than this, which feels rushed and transactional. But time is of the essence. His goods will languish in customs until they are no longer valuable if he does not pay his bribes, and his mistress will desert him.

"You do me honor," Bassanio murmurs, before he stands up fully again.

"You need not bow to me," Antonio replies, amused and superior. "Your step-mother is my sister-in-law's cousin." He steps in close to embrace Bassanio, nothing untoward, not here under watchful eyes of his followers. "We are kin," he adds, with a kiss on Bassanio's cheek.

Bassanio smiles as warmly as he can and nods his head, but Antonio is not finished. "I have seen you about the city," he says, black eyes never leaving Bassanio's face. "Your barge was well decorated during Carnival."

It was not, for his family had already started to lose money then, and had to make do with rented finery, but Bassanio smirks and acknowledges the compliment anyway. "I have business to attend to in the Ghetto this afternoon, before the Jews go to their Sabbath rest," Antonio tells him in a low voice. "Will you join me for supper after?"

A blond boy standing a half step behind Antonio gives Bassanio a look that could slice flesh to ribbons, but Bassanio only smiles, and says, "I wait upon your pleasure."

They meet in Antonio's own chambers. A light supper of cold summer foods is laid out on a table, but the presence of a bed attracts Bassanio's attention much more than the out of season oysters.

"Would you like some wine?" Antonio asks after his footman leads Bassanio into the room and closes the door discreetly behind him.

Bassanio is already well-fortifed with a strong German vintage when he arrives, but he'll take more. He nods acquiescence and lets Antonio press a goblet into his hands, giving him the excuse to come closer. Bassanio has heard nothing of Antonio that would give him pause, beyond the too-true accusations of perversion, but still he quails at putting himself this much in Antonio's power. Antonio's money buys understanding from Venice gossips, but Bassanio does not have such advantages.

And there is the physical aspect. Even with wine and future favor as motivation, he can muster no more than simple acceptance of giving Antonio access to his body, when clearly desire is wanted.

"I have watched you these past months," Antonio murmurs, privacy and wine making him bolder than he was in the park. Bassanio takes a swig of the wine, wetting his dry throat. Antonio brushes his thumb over Bassanio's lips and licks off the wine he gathers there. His eyes shine with naked longing.

Some demon takes hold of Bassanio's will and he asks, "Is that why I'm here now? Why Gratiano suggested I come see you?" A residue of sense keeps him from mentioning what else Gratiano said, and the lewd eyebrow waggle he accompanied the advice with.

Antonio lowers his eyes as if he is a woman and Bassanio has just paid him some extravagant compliment. "Yes," he says. Then he seems to master himself. "You keep some . . . rather base company," he adds, lips twisting in amused disdain.

Bassanio looks directly into Antonio's eyes. "Is that a problem for you?" he asks, making his voice low and ripe.

"No, your roughness adds a certain savor."

Bassanio's lips curl; so Antonio sees him as little better than some virile guardsman, borrowed for a night's pleasure, soon to be sent back where he belongs. It makes Bassanio feel perversely better about his presence here, for that is a role he can play.

"What do you wish of me?" Bassanio asks, keeping his voice low, his eyes intense. If Antonio wants to be overwhelmed with simple manliness, Bassanio can grant his wish.

Antonio breathes shallowly. "I would see you," he says, fingers pulling at the laces of Bassanio's coat. Bassanio dresses without the help of a manservant these days, those wages gone to pay debts, and his hands have become clever at such things. He slides his fingers through Antonio's as they find seams and buttons. His undershirt is finest linen, thin to transparency for the coming summer heat. Antonio traces the patterns his chest hair makes through the sheer fabric with his hands.

"And I would give you pleasure," he adds, tugging at the Bassanio's belt.

"You already have," Bassanio murmurs.

Antonio gives him a look of disbelief. "My vanity is not so easily flattered as you presume, young Bassanio. I know why you are here."

"Then why do you care to give me pleasure?" he asks. Perhaps he is not as good at this as he imagines. The game that they are playing may be shattered by too much honesty.

"Because you are beautiful," says Antonio simply. Then he smiles like a much younger man, and Bassanio catches a glimpse of what he must have once been: a lovely, sensitive man, the favorite of a long-dead Doge. "And why you came may not be the reason you stay," he adds.

Antonio wants Bassanio standing for this, though Bassanio worries for his knees. It doesn't seem fit to worry over his lover's age, though, so Bassanio tips his head back against the wooden wall Antonio has pressed him against, and imagines some other lips around him. Antonio's mouth is skillful as a canal whore's, but although it would suit the persona he thought to play here, Bassanio does not say it.

"This I crave," Antonio tells him, after licking him hard and gasping. His eyes shine up at Bassanio, dark as night. "Would that I knew why."

"I'm happy you do, whatever the reason," Bassanio replies, no dissembling necessary now. Antonio's desire is an aphrodisiac of a sort, and curiosity supplies an additional spur to Bassanio's lust. Antonio is practiced at this. What other delights might he have to offer?

He stands and runs his hand down Bassanio's chest, fingers tangling through the hair there then trailing further down. He wraps his hand around Bassanio's shaft, then takes Bassanio's hand and places it there with his. "I would watch you take your pleasure."

Bassanio flushes as he hardens. Antonio's gaze feels like a burning touch on his skin. He moves away and sits on the bed. His arousal is apparent but he makes no move to touch himself, only watches Bassanio and nods for him to continue.

Bassanio wraps himself with his hand and strokes, never taking his eyes from Antonio's. When pleasure takes him, he squeezes them shut for a moment, but opens them again, to see Antonio, lips parted, hardly breathing.

"You may go," he says, when Bassanio is finished. His eyes hold a deep sadness along with the desire.

Bassanio sits down next to him. He puts his hand along the edge of Antonio's high collar, and kisses him. Antonio's mouth parts slowly under his, taking Bassanio's measure with lips and tongue the way he did before with words. Antonio tastes himself, and the wine, and smells the cloves of Antonio's cologne over the tang of his own seed.

"May I?" asks Bassanio, drawing a hand up the inside of Antonio's thigh, Antonio's parted lips still no more than a hair's breadth from his own.

Antonio seems to shudder, and his mouth tastes Bassanio's again. "Aye, you may." Bassanio presses further, and Antonio arches his neck. "But not now."

Antonio puts a hand up to Bassanio's cheek, and trails fingers down his neck, over the margin of his hair, sending shivers over his skin. "There is too much coin here to spend in one night," he says, wonder mixing with the melancholy in his voice. He seems loath to let go. "You will come again?" he asks.

Bassanio takes one of Antonio's hands in his and turns it over so he can kiss the palm. "It would be my pleasure," he says, and this time Antonio does not accuse him of flattery. He turns Antonio's hand over, and kisses an un-ringed finger, lips molding over bare knuckle. As he lets go, his fingertips brush over gold.

  



End file.
